Review: We Have a Pope (Habemus Papam)

Quest for the unholy grail? Nanni Moretti co-writes and directs this gentle comedy about a man who does not want to be pope.

Photograph by: Handout
, Handout

Nanni Moretti co-writes and directs this gentle comedy about a man who does not want to be pope. Though recently elected to the highest office of the Holy See, Cardinal Melville (Michel Piccoli) suffers panic attacks and debilitating fits of humility, forcing his comrades to seek a psychiatric professional. Despite hitting the odd comic bull's eye through Michel Piccoli's performance as the reluctant pontiff, Moretti's movie fails to deliver a big message.

Any movie that recreates the Sistine Chapel in stunning detail deserves a little respect, but Nanni Moretti's latest actually slurps its power from a rather unholy grail.

Creating a comic tableau from the ancient and altogether sober act of electing a new pontiff, We Have a Pope opens with the pomp and ceremony surrounding the Holy See as the College of Cardinals converge for the all-important Papal conclave.

Convened with the express purpose of choosing a new supreme leader who will act as the liaison officer between God and humankind, the College of Cardinals have a great responsibility -- and from what we see in the opening scenes, they are highly aware of the holy burden they are forced to bear.

Watching them parade, grim-faced, into the chapel where they are trapped until they reach a conclusive result, we're given little biographical sketches of each as a TV reporter describes the membership.

Though they all look somewhat generic in their red and white robes and grey hair, Moretti ensures we get a sense of high school drama as they stream into the chamber by giving us just enough backstory to outline internal tension.

After all, these men are the voice of the Almighty in their own communities, which means there's a "pope of South America" and a "pope of Africa" competing for world prominence.

At least, that's the impression we're supposed to get as the tension mounts with each ballot. Moretti shows us a group of men eyeing each other in silence. The mood is reflective and serious, because the milieu screams two thousand years of solemnity, yet Moretti undermines his own sacred silence when he focuses our attention on the sound of a pen clicking.

At first, it's just the absent-minded tapping of a single cardinal losing patience, but the clickety-tapping soon swells into a symphonic score of frazzled nerves. The old men are getting bored with the process that's held them captive, and they clearly want a new leader everyone can stand behind -- but there isn't one among them who really wants the job.

As Moretti's camera pans the room and settles on each craggy face, we hear the voice inside their heads chant "Not me, God! Please, not me!"

It's one of those balloon-meets-pin-prick moments, where all the tension in the frame is released in a single comic thrust -- but once the air is out of the bladder, Moretti has a hard time holding our attention.

A new pope is elected, but just as he's about to be introduced to the masses waiting outside St. Peter's, Cardinal Melville (Michel Piccoli) has a meltdown.

Unable to assume his place on the grand balcony, he screams in a chair as the weight of his new responsibilities takes hold.

Humbled and highly intimidated by the office awaiting his presence, Cardinal Melville is decompensating, forcing his fellow cardinals into hiring a psychiatrist to evaluate his mental fitness.

The director, Moretti, plays the professional hired as confessional aide and his scene with Piccoli is one of the best as the needs of psychiatric intimacy are sacrificed for the papal process.

The whole session grinds to a halt, forcing Melville into the streets of Rome, where he embarks on a secular brand of spirit quest.

Borrowing a device we've seen in everything from the Prince and the Pauper to the Brady Bunch, Melville walks among the ordinary and unwashed incognito. They have no idea he's been selected as the Holy See's hero, so they can offer up their own advice without feeling self-conscious in the face of supposed omniscience.

There are times when Piccoli's Melville looks and feels like an Italian Chance the Gardener from Being There. He has the same vacant, yet soulful, stare that marked Peter Sellers' brilliant performance.

We're never quite sure if he's a total moron, or just a humble human being who feels overwhelmed by the dimensions of his holy duty. This comic device takes us from start to finish, but if there was a deeper purpose to Moretti's religious send-up, it's not immediately apparent.

There are no sharp slashes at religious hypocrisy. There's barely a backhanded compliment. The whole movie floats on a thin coat of farce, offering up some gentle chuckles and some truly awe-inspiring set decoration (the Sistine Chapel is a set), but nothing that would rank as metaphysically meaningful.

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